


Chronic Disaster

by Skchorpion



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: I AM SORRY, M/M, probably angst, so that's a warning!, there will be a description of stress gone real bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:04:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9310496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skchorpion/pseuds/Skchorpion
Summary: Romance doesn't help you get over your problems. You have to defeat them yourself.Post-Grindelwald incident, Graves has PTSD, meets Newt, but love doesn't cure such things so he has to figure it out some way. Might be a slowburn, don't know how it'll end up though.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, so let me know what you think and if I made any mistakes.
> 
> Graves has PTSD, but mostly I am describing it from my own experience, so please be gentle.

Mr. Graves wakes up.

No, no no no nonono.... He tries to fall back asleep but it's too late. It has already begun.

The sickness inside, it's like... Like you're constantly filled with utter disgust towards yourself and it takes shape, it takes your strength and everything you have. It roams inside you freely whilst you're in cramps, trying to control your body, your thoughts, where your mind goes... But you can do nothing. There is only fear and misery, cramps, hot and cold shivers. 

Mr. Graves lies on his bed and it's been a while but he can move his legs now. It's been three hours of horror but his mind is slowly waking up and listening to his desperate orders. He gets out of bed but has to sit back down to regain consciousness that was trying to slip away. He makes it downstairs to the living room quite alright, only to run to the bathroom to throw up. The clean smell of the pot afterwards almost makes him puke again, but he quickly leaves for shower. Percival closes his eyes as the hot water pours over him. It's the only blissful thing he can relish in before the day starts. Depression always came with cold body temperature as if showing his body's incapability to fight one's 'weakness' with a common fever. He had had the most powerful dark wizard of their time in his mind, after all. Well not directly, Grindelwald had just stuffed him into a broken vanishing cabinet in case the polyjuice potion supplies would end before his plans come true. But he had been everywhere else. He had been in his apartment, his wardrobe, his kitchen, his workdesk, his favourite cafes. And nobody had noticed until it was too late. Not one. His clothes smelt like Grindelwald, his kitchen was stuffed with foods to his taste, his office had been rearranged and his chair had been sat in. By the darkest wizard in history wearing Percival's skin. His own skin haunts him.

There is no point asking 'why me?', he knew very well. Percival's position was deliberate, gaining access to almost everything important in this city. A step higher would've grown too suspicious, step lower wouldn't have granted as much power. He knew he didn't deserve this. Yet it had happened to him. And none of them saw the difference...

Mr. Graves stops the train of thoughts right there and steps out of the shower. 5AM. He would get to work early, even with the long route avoiding all possible cafe's that would send out a whiff of fresh pastries so early in the morning. It's not like he doesn't like food. It's more to do with the uncontrollable eating disorder that would only visit him during the morning. It had him anxious that his body wouldn't even eat anything he had enjoyed before, making his knees weak when he stood up too long or apparated. Yet it was just another thing he had to get rid of. Fortunately he didn't live that far from his MACUSA office, so the cautious walk to work was nobody's concern but his own. Plus, it was still so early that only the no-maj mailmen would walk around in this part of the city. No fuss, no neighbours watching over your shoulder. Everything was perfectly fine. Percival makes his way to the wizards-only restricted section when something catches his eye. There is a frowning green stick on the sidewalk. Wait what?  
A frowning green stick, Percival's mind repeats. Why is it frowning? Confusion: am I delusional on the daytime too, now?  
He lunges froward, but the frowning green stick tries to escape. Well this is not a sight for no-majs, he decides and casts a spell to slow the green fella down. Percival ends up picking it up and putting into his left pocket, just in case the world seems too sane after 2 cups of coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

Paperwork was never fun, although Graves had found a way to just do what it takes. He cleared his mind, forced himself not to procrastinate and awarded himself with fresh grounded black coffee. He had finished already half a share of today’s assignments when his colleagues started arriving. Percival got carried away by all their fuss and chit chat, finding it hard to concentrate when Tina and her sister bumbled nervously about what, picking a …bow-truck? A bowtie? No idea what that meant. As soon as they saw Mr. Graves’s Death Stare they stopped and hurried away though. But you see, that might also be the doing of Grindelgraves almost executing one of the sisters. Great. What didn’t that dire person take over? He couldn’t even sulk and stare at people like he used to. Percival sighed. A coffee break was in order.

Graves’s legs carried him down his usual path to the Golden Avenue, but when he once realised where he was at, it just made him more anxious. Grindelwald had studied his mannerisms, habits and likes, he had been ordering his coffee no-sugar no-cream from the same cafe that he stood in front of. He had been using his position, his face to endanger no-majs and wizards alike. And Graves felt the weight of that on his shoulders every day, even if nobody said it was his fault. All they did was pity the man that turned into a monster. And Percival had to change himself if he didn’t want to be the person tainted by Grindelwald’s shadow. 

He left the Golden Avenue and wandered into no-majs everyday streets, taking a turn to left every once in a while so he wouldn’t get too far from MACUSA. A few blocks later he stopped in front of Kowalski’s Quality Baked Goods and stepped inside to order his long-waited coffee. Having completely forgotten his stick-animal-insect, he searched his pockets for no-maj money, waking said creature in the process. After the first sip of coffee Percival felt the sounds of the world coming back to him and collapsing on him all at once. He also noticed something green slipping out of his pocket. Cursing the stick-creature for not being a hallucination, he followed it as it hopped from one no-maj’s coat to another, until finally landing on a bright blue coat. Graves stared in mild horror as the no-maj turned to the creature and… secretly placed it in their inner pocket. Percival took a long sip of coffee and tried again. Yep, the probably-not-no-maj was shushing his inner pocket and looking around warily, until locking eyes with him. The probably-wizard seemed to recognise him and Graves had the feeling he should know who this man is, too, but nothing occurred.

“I - Thank you… for returning Pickett. He’s a bowtruckle you see, and a rather adventurous one,” the man before him said shyly, patting his pocket and averting Graves’s eyes. Graves took another sip. Picking a bow-truck, huh. But who was its owner?

“Oh, I am terribly sorry, my name is Newt, Newt Scamander,” the wizard explained hastily, while Percival played connect-the-dots with his brain. Within 2.3 seconds, his caffeinated brain caught the snitch. Newt Scamander, the british magizoologist that helped to defeat Grindelgraves - no, Grindelwald; obliviated half the town and left America under the order of MACUSA. Added items: owns a bowtruckle named Pickett; drinks tea in a no-maj area; avoids eye-contact. Freckles…  
“Graves, pleasure to meet you,” he offered his hand. Newt looked at it for a second, before grabbing his hand from his elbow and shaking it vigorously. It was strange, but earnest.  
“Pleasure to have you back with - with us, Mr. Graves,” answered Mr. Scamander.  
Graves raised and eyebrow. “I don’t recall…” he starts, but stops when it hits him. It’s more painful than he had thought it would be. All these people knowing him through Grindelwald’s actions. Newt not even knowing the real him, but probably still pitying him. Percival suddenly feels dizzy and airless, as if the cafe they were in had suddenly shrunk and he couldn’t fit inside anymore. The blood pumped in his veins and he had to get. out. now.

“I - I gotta go” he managed before storming out of the cafe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, but I hope you guys still like it :)

A wisp of cold air unfortunately didn’t change much. Graves was panting and his whole body felt like it would explode from the heat, the coffee cup fell in what seemed like slow motion from his trembling hands. The door opened, letting out the buzz of the bakery, and closed again.

“For what it’s worth, you’re nothing like him, you know,” a soft voice said behind him. Percival stayed motionless. All he could feel was ice, slowly cracking his skin, starting from the knuckles and going up to his elbows, making its way to his heart. 

“How would you know? You know nothing of me,” Percival said, seemingly calm and quiet. He didn’t want to scare the man, but his voice was low and deadly and there was nothing he could do to soften his words. He had already given enough to the world. Still, he sighed and turned around, ready to apologise halfheartedly and take his leave. Mr. Scamander, however, had taken the green stick - no, a bowtruckle - out of his pocket and put it on his shoulder.

“Because you did not hurt Pickett,” he smiled a little. “There is so much evil in this world, but that doesn’t mean it can take a hold of you. Magical creatures - like him - can sense that. They know the likeliness of somebody hurting them better than humans. And Pickett here is an amazing judge of character,” Newt grinned widely to the bowtruckle trying to climb into his hair.

Graves felt the ice melt little by little, as he watched the stick figure that would’ve done a better job of revealing Grindelwald than most of his colleagues, run away from Scamander’s searching hands, making a show out of it. 

“Pickett, please, you’ll get a cold in this weather if you run around too much!” Newt yelped, and Percival felt a tug in the corners of his lips. He liked the troublesome bowtruckle and it’s somewhat shy but caring owner. And he really didn’t want to go back to work. But he still wasn’t prepared for consequences when someone stuttered the words “Would you like to have dinner with me?” in his own low voice and Newt stopped struggling with his hands, both him and Pickett looking at him as if he’d suddenly grown another head. Or two, as Newt looked everywhere but into his face. Graves felt his stomach drop. Why did he even think - “I would very much like that,” Newt stopped his train of thoughts. As in literally, Percival’s mind got blank. 

Newt felt uncomfortable in the silence, understanding now that Mr. Graves might not have thought it through. “If - if you’d like to, that is,” he stuttered and stepped back, clasping his hands nervously.

Graves still couldn’t think, but he stepped towards Newt, ending up standing closer to him than before. He could feel the other man’s breath as he locked his eyes with Pickett and the world stopped spinning for a moment, allowing his mind to reassess the conversation. Finally, he looked at Scamander: “Saturday, at 5? In the Bewitched Tower perhaps?”

“Uh, that depends. What day is it?” Mr. Scamander searched his pockets for something, Pickett clinging to his hair, making angry sounds at the sudden movement. Graves allowed himself a smirk, one he hadn’t had on his face for a long while.  
“It’s Friday, I believe. I left the hospital on Wednesday evening, so…”

“Ah! Well then in that case I’ll be all yours tomorrow, Mr. Graves,” Newt grinned, writing the address and time into a ragged notebook. He was turning away already, when Graves grabbed his arm.   
“Are you sure you know where to come? Perhaps you’d like to meet up in the Central Park?” he asked, not wanting to let go of the man just yet. 

“Well, I do have got Tina for instructions, if they are needed, yes,” Newt said, looking at the cafe next to them, “But I also like to venture on my own,” he added quietly. 

“I do believe that,” Graves chuckled. “Have a nice day, Mr. Scamander,” he finally said, switching back to a professional look. Even Newt stiffened a bit to that, muttering his farewell almost inaudibly, but Pickett only sticked his tongue out, to show his thoughts on the matter.

Graves was still smiling when he got back to work.


End file.
